Creative Writing

I like people. I enjoy their differences, their similarities and their stupid habits that make them them. When I wander the streets in search of that perfect oasis of liquor and darkness, I can’t help but be drawn to people. It’s a demented beauty really. Perceived only in the mind’s eye, this appreciation of the molded figures that are just so malleable. I really like people.

The night before the Women’s March on Washington Jan. 21, I sat with my mother and sister in our living room making picket signs for the occasion. My mom – the better artist – was putting the finishing touches on the globe she had drawn on my poster, which declared my reason for marching: Because I’m scared for our planet!

As college age students, we are approaching our first Presidential election as voting-aged adults. As a political and historical geek, I have been counting down to this 2016 election since I was in grade school. I patiently awaited my time to actively participate in the political process as excitedly as a normal little girl might await her wedding day. A lot has changed since my distant observations of elections as a patriotic child. For one, to say that my political opinions have drifted from those of my family would be an understatement.